Burn
by ErisMalfoy1990
Summary: Harry felt as if he was going to be set aflame if the burning didn't stop, it was consuming him. NON-CON SLASH CHAN


**A/N: **No beta, all mistakes are my own. Some warnings: non-con, slash, underage, and sexual situations. So this is the first time I've ever written a story like this. Last night the idea just came to me and wouldn't leave.

**Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

* * *

><p>Ern slammed on the brakes and the Knight Bus skidded to a halt in front of a small and shabby- looking pub, the Leaky Cauldron, behind which lay the magical entrance to Diagon Alley.<p>

"Thanks," Harry said to Ern.

He jumped down the steps and helped Stan lower his trunk and Hedwig's cage onto the pavement.

"Well," said Harry. "'Bye then!"

But Stan wasn't paying attention. Still standing in the doorway to the bus, he was goggling at the shadowy entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. "There you are, Harry," said a voice.

Before Harry could turn, he felt a hand on his shoulder. At the same time, Stan shouted, "Blimey! Ern, come 'ere! Come 'ere."

Harry looked up at the owner of the hand on his shoulder and felt a bucketful of ice cascade into his stomach – he had walked right into Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself.

Stan leapt onto the pavement beside them.

"What didja call Neville, Minister?" he said excitedly.

Fudge, a portly little man in a long, pinstriped cloak, looked cold and exhausted.

"Neville?" he repeated, frowning. "This is Harry Potter."

"I knew it!" Stan shouted gleefully. "Ern! Ern! Guess 'oo Neville is, Ern! 'E's 'Arry Potter! I can see 'is scar!"

"Yes," said Fudge testily, "well, I'm very glad the Knight Bus picked Harry up, but he and I need to step inside the Leaky Cauldron now..."

Fudge increased the pressure on Harry's shoulder, and Harry found himself being steered inside the pub. A stooping figure bearing a lantern appeared through the door behind the bar. It was Tom, the wizened, toothless landlord.

"You've got him, Minister!" said Tom. "Will you be wanting anything? Beer? Brandy?"

"Perhaps a pot of tea," said Fudge, who still hadn't let go of Harry.

There was a loud scraping and puffing from behind them, and Stan and Ern appeared, carrying Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage and looking around excitedly.

"'Ow come you di'n't tell us 'oo you are, eh, Neville?" said Stan, beaming at Harry, while Ernie's owlish face peered interestedly over Stan's shoulder.

"And a private parlor, please, Tom," said Fudge pointedly.

"Bye," Harry said miserably to Stan and Ern as Tom beckoned Fudge toward the passage that led from the bar.

"Bye, Neville!" called Stan.

Fudge marched Harry along the narrow passage after Tom's lantern, and then into a small parlor. Tom clicked his fingers, a fire burst into life in the grate, and he bowed himself out of the room.

"Sit down, Harry," said Fudge, indicating a chair by the fire.

Harry sat down, feeling goose bumps rising up his arms despite the glow of the fire. Fudge took off his pinstriped cloak and tossed it aside, then hitched up the trousers of his bottle-green suit and sat down opposite Harry.

"I am Cornelius Fudge, Harry. The Minister of Magic."

Harry already knew this, of course; he had seen Fudge once before, but as he had been wearing his father's Invisibility Cloak at the time, Fudge wasn't to know that.

Tom the innkeeper reappeared, wearing an apron over his nightshirt and bearing a tray of tea and crumpets. He placed the tray on a table between Fudge and Harry and left the parlor, closing the door behind him.

"Well, Harry," said Fudge, pouring out tea, "you've had us all in a right flap, I don't mind telling you. Running away from your aunt and uncle's house like that! I'd started to think... but you're safe, and that's what matters."

Fudge buttered himself a crumpet and pushed the plate toward Harry.

"Eat, Harry, you look dead on your feet. Now then... You will be pleased to hear that we have dealt with the unfortunate blowing-up of Miss Marjorie Dursley. Two members of the Accidental Magic Reversal Department were dispatched to Privet Drive a few hours ago. Miss Dursley has been punctured and her memory has been modified. She has no recollection of the incident at all. So that's that, and no harm done."

Fudge smiled at Harry over the rim of his teacup, rather like an uncle surveying a favorite nephew. Harry, who couldn't believe his ears, opened his mouth to speak, couldn't think of anything to say, and closed it again.

"Ah, you're worrying about the reaction of your aunt and uncle?" said Fudge. "Well, I won't deny that they are extremely angry, Harry, but they are prepared to take you back next summer as long as you stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays."

Harry unstuck his throat.

"I always stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays," he said, "and I don't ever want to go back to Privet Drive."

"Now, now, I'm sure you'll feel differently once you've calmed down," said Fudge in a worried tone. "They are your family, after all, and I'm sure you are fond of each other - er - very deep down."

It didn't occur to Harry to put Fudge right. He was still waiting to hear what was going to happen to him now.

"So all that remains," said Fudge, now buttering himself a second crumpet, "is to decide where you're going to spend the last two weeks of your vacation. I suggest you take a room here at the Leaky Cauldron and—"

"Hang on," blurted Harry. "What about my punishment?"

Fudge blinked. "Punishment?"

"I broke the law!" Harry said. "The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry!"

"Oh, my dear boy, we're not going to punish you for a little thing like that!" cried Fudge, waving his crumpet impatiently. "It was an accident! We don't send people to Azkaban just for blowing up their aunts!"

But this didn't tally at all with Harry's past dealings with the Ministry of Magic.

"Last year, I got an official warning just because a house-elf smashed a pudding in my uncle's house!" he told Fudge, frowning. "The Ministry of Magic said I'd be expelled from Hogwarts if there was any more magic there!"

Unless Harry's eyes were deceiving him, Fudge was suddenly scheming something.

"Circumstances change, Harry... We have to take into account... in the present climate... Surely you don't want to be expelled?"

"Of course I don't," said Harry.

"Well then, I suppose I could do you a favor, keep the punishment hush, hush?" laughed Fudge. "Now, have a crumpet, Harry, while I go and see if Tom's got a room for you."

Fudge strode out of the parlor and Harry stared after him. There was something extremely odd going on. Why had Fudge been waiting for him at the Leaky Cauldron, if not to expel him for what he'd done? And now Harry came to think of it, surely it wasn't usual for the Minister of Magic himself to get involved in matters of underage magic?

Fudge came back, accompanied by Tom the innkeeper.

"Room eleven's free, Harry," said Fudge. "I think you'll be very comfortable. Just one thing before I take you to your room, and I'm sure you'll understand... I don't want you wandering off into Muggle London, all right? Keep to Diagon Alley. And you're to be back here before dark each night. Sure you'll understand. Tom will be keeping an eye on you for me."

"Okay," said Harry slowly, "but why?"

"Don't want to lose you again, do we?" said Fudge with a hearty laugh. "No, no... best we know where you are... I mean..." Fudge cleared his throat loudly and picked up his pinstriped cloak. "Well, I'll show you to your room now, plenty to do, you know... "

"Have you had any luck with Black yet?" Harry asked.

Fudge's finger slipped on the silver fastenings of his cloak.

"What's that? Oh, you've heard - well, no, not yet, but it's only a matter of time. The Azkaban guards have never yet failed... and they are angrier than I've ever seen them." Fudge shuddered slightly. "So, here is room eleven. Now let's go in and we can talk about your punishment."

Inside was a very comfortable-looking bed, some highly polished oak furniture, and a cheerfully crackling fire.

Harry looked at the Minister and noticed an odd gleam in the man's eyes.

The man shuffled over to the bed and patted beside him. "Why don't you come and sit here while we talk."

Uncomfortable, but unsure how to say no, Harry went and sat beside the man.

The man's smile did nothing to reassure Harry, who thought maybe he should have made the man tell him in the parlor what was going to happen. There was something unsettling, depraved about the way the Minister was looking at him.

"Now Harry," the Minister said, still smiling that oily smile, "there are not many people I do this type of thing for, but they always repay me."

Harry nodded, still not knowing where this was going.

The Minister shook his head sympathetically. "Dumbledore and the Ministry wanted to follow through, have you expelled." Harry paled. "But I couldn't let them do that, I knew it was a mistake. Of course, they still pushed for some form of discipline and since I took responsibility for you they insisted that I must be the one to punish you as I see fit."

Harry didn't like the sound of that at all.

"W-what d-did you d-decide?" Harry stuttered anxiously.

"I knew it had to be something you would remember forever, something that would make you think twice about disobeying, something that would make you hesitate any time you felt like raising your wand to your relatives." The Minister said.

Harry tried to protest, tell him that it was an accident, tell the horrible things that were being said, but he was unable to open his mouth. Panicking, Harry lifted his hand, except it wouldn't lift either. Frantically he tried to move, but he was frozen.

"Ah, so sorry about that, but couldn't have you trying to get away and the silencing spells on the rooms only work so well." The Minister explained in the same smarmy voice.

The Minister stood, standing in front of Harry. He pushed Harry, making him lie on his back. Then he manipulated Harry's legs, pulling them apart. Harry wasn't in the position for long though, a whispered word and Harry was lying on his stomach. All the while Harry's attempts at moving away from the roaming hands were futile.

The Minister lifted Harry's head, turning it so he faced the side. "Don't want you to suffocate."

Then the man was once again behind him, saying something too quiet for Harry to hear, then Harry felt air all over; he realized he was naked. He shouted, wanting to protest, to alert someone. No sound was heard though.

The man was silent too. But his hands weren't still. They were everywhere. Touching, stroking, lingering. Harry wanted them _off_. He wanted to be able to move. He wanted to yell. But nothing he wanted was happening.

He was hoping this was all. That it would stop.

But it wasn't. It seemed to just be beginning. Another whispered spell and Harry felt his insides scraped clean. He felt raw.

It didn't last long; more quiet words and Harry's insides were cold. And wet.

He fought harder against the spell. This wasn't happening. He wasn't going to let it happen.

But it was happening.

The man didn't wait long, his hands still stroking, caressing, moved lower. Harry's body was once again maneuvered. His hips were grabbed roughly, lifted. He was on his knees, his head lying on the bed, facing the wall. The hands had never stopped. Rubbing, stroking his cheeks, then he was parted and then there was a blunt pressure.

Then there was pain.

So much pain. It was like nothing Harry had ever felt. It burned, it ached, it felt like he was being ripped open.

Inside his mind he was screaming, no, no, No.

He didn't want this. He didn't deserve this.

But the man wasn't stopping.

He was moving.

Harry felt as if he was going to be set aflame if the burning didn't stop, it was consuming him.

His throat was burning. From the silent screams that never left him, from the dryness of being overused.

The man was moving faster now.

The thrusts were harder; the only sound was the slapping of skin against skin.

The hands gripped him harshly, hard enough to leave bruises. Leave reminders.

Then the man was still, buried deep and there was an acid splashed across his wounds.

The man leaving was almost as bad as when he entered. The acid spread, the burning spread.

Harry wasn't moved, wasn't cleaned, wasn't dressed.

The man was moving around, doing something, hopefully leaving. Leaving Harry to burn.

Then the magic was gone, letting Harry move, making him collapse. But Harry didn't move, didn't try.

The hands were back, caressing his face, moving his hair, touching his scar.

"I'm leaving now, Harry. I expect that I won't have to do this again, it's an unpleasant ordeal for all involved." The man sighed. "It's best to not mention it to others; dirty business, punishments. We all have to make sacrifices though." He patted Harry on the cheek. "I'll make sure no one brings you harm, but you'll just have to stop being such a naughty boy." The man whispered mockingly.

Then he was gone.

Leaving Harry to burn.


End file.
